


Conspecific

by astronavigatrix



Category: League of Legends
Genre: (also sort of), (sort of), Alternate Universe, Body Worship, Comfort Sex, Drabble Collection, F/M, I have No Excuse, I love these dumb birds, Innuendo, Innuendo everywhere, Rakan is a Glorious Disaster, Weird Biology, also, but Xayah is too, so it works out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronavigatrix/pseuds/astronavigatrix
Summary: Some Lovebirds drabbles (both canon and AU) because Riot has hit every mark on my OTP checklist with these two.





	1. Bravado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-ship.
> 
> Rakan is more trouble than Xayah anticipated; but not more than she can handle. For the most part.

          Xayah remembers the exact moment she realized she was in trouble when it came to Rakan.   
  
        It wasn't early on in their travels, in particular not her own, so their routine when near a town had long since been decided. They would arrive, usually separately if Xayah had her way (and she usually did), and find whatever restaurant or tavern there was to collect information in. Rakan would take all the attention, charming the residents who, at ease with his sunny irreverence, would utterly ignore her sharp ears as they chattered among themselves about him and about their species. Now and then they'd get lucky, and find one or two assholes intending to try and snatch him up to see if he'd be useful to the shadowy cabal they'd been hearing more and more about--  _those_ were good nights, filled with rushing adrenaline and flying feathers, Rakan's steadily familiarizing presence at her back. More often than not, however, Rakan's showy nature coupled with the occasional dance or show of some of his flashier parlor tricks would earn him a gaggle of admirers both male and female, most simply intrigued by the novelty of a Vastaya in their midst. Some, however (and most usually the women) had more than just curiosity on their minds.   
  
_Or maybe_ , she remembers thinking, _it's that their curiosity is more than a little **unusual**_.  
  
       Leaning against the bar, Rakan entertained questions and requests for more of his tricks, long fingers moving through the air as magic flashed between his fingers, delighting in the attention it got from those around him-- even those who hadn't been particularly interested before. Applause sounds, light and scattered, the faint drumbeats and strumming strings of the musicians in the corner catching Rakan's ears at last and making one of his feet tap in idle rhythm, body beginning to sway, near imperceptible. Near, but not enough, because it prompts one of the women nearby to smile at him, a sly cat-with-the-canary grin, and slink closer, her fingertips skimming against his bicep. She leans against the bar beside him, the position absolutely meant to compliment her assets, and the disinterested flicker of Xayah's eyes in Rakan's direction to make sure he's staying out of trouble turns into a sudden, burning stare.   
  
        Still smiling, the woman says something that makes Rakan  _preen_ , ego sufficiently stroked, but that Xayah can't quite make out over the sudden din of her blood pounding in her ears. She's sliding out of her corner booth before she even realizes, slinking closer between patrons, aided by the pub's dim lighting, eyes on her travel companion all the while.   
  
"--ce by yourself... So what do you say? Want to show me some of your moves?"  
  
      Rakan's mouth opens, expression clearly amused, but before he can reply, the pounding in Xayah's ears drops down into her chest cavity, a frantic hummingbird wingbeat somewhere between her heart and her stomach. Suddenly she's there, leaned between him and the woman, smile sharper than her feather blades as she replies for him--  
  
"He's already got a partner."  
  
        Her tone isn't apologetic, or remorseful; it's warning and cold, and her eyes are narrowed, even as the woman looks between her and Rakan, leaning forward as if she's considering continuing speaking to him despite Xayah's presence. It's almost enough to make Xayah slide a blade between her ribs, but she's halted from any forward movement when Rakan, likely recognizing the violence coiling in the tension of her shoulders, slides an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest and  _oh spirits what is she doing_ \--  
  
"Like I was going to tell you," he croons, leaning down enough to press his head against the side of hers, looking up from beneath his lashes at the other woman in a look Xayah knows to be utterly devastating, "I've got a lady, and she's the only dance partner I need. Isn't that right baby?"  
  
        Feeling the restrained laughter in his chest, Xayah knows he expects her to either break away or recoil from this game (is it a game? she doesn't think so, not with how irritated the idea of him being flirted with again makes her feel) and so instead she lets her eyes shutter closed a moment, leaning her head against his, and then flashes the other woman a warning look.   
  
"That's right,  _mieli_."  
  
       Rakan's arm tightens around her, breath hitching, and Xayah's mouth curls in satisfaction, glad to have the upper hand once again. It isn't until the woman is gone (but not without a few confused and irritated looks between the two of them) that Xayah relaxes, only to tense again as Rakan's soft chuckle rumbles against her back. There is enough give in the grip he has on her for her to turn, and so she does, whirling on him with her face set in indifferent displeasure, not faltering beneath his smug grin and raised brow.  
  
"Well, since my only other offer is gone... how about that dance," Rakan hums, bending to nearly nuzzle into her cheek, " _miella_?"  
  
        The endearment makes her freeze up, a microsecond of inaction before she lifts her hand with a scoff and pushes her hand against his face, tilting away.   
  
"If you wanna dance so bad, dance _by yourself_ ," she replies, but there's a warning in her eyes she's sure he grasps as she takes a step back, out of his arms, and brushes at the feathers on her cloak with a huff. "But maybe if you behave yourself," she adds, crooking her own brow at him over her shoulder, "we can dance somewhere more private sometime."  
  
        Rakan makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, a rolling sound of pleasure, but he lets her return to her table unobstructed. He doesn't dance that evening, and she doesn't get up to speak to him again, but she can feel his eyes on her as she goes over some of her maps all the while. 


	2. Yellow Flicker Beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are dark, cold and disappointing, and Rakan is the only light she can see when she looks forward.
> 
> _or_
> 
> Xayah says 'yes' for the first time; Rakan intends to keep her doing so.
> 
> _or_
> 
> Getting laid doesn't solve everything, but it sure helps with handling it.  
> (Warning now for... slightly less than human biology in regards to these two but. A: they're not human and B: these are my headcanons and I'm sticking to them. Best read when paired with _'Busted and Blue'_ from the new Gorillaz album as background music.)

        Violence doesn't exactly _bother_ Rakan-- it would be ridiculous if it did, his being a battle-dancer and all. Death though... death sets him on edge, makes him jittery and more unpredictable than usual. This much Xayah has noticed since they've started traveling together, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't frustrating. She'd also be lying if she said she faulted him for it, her own desensitization to it something she knows isn't quite right. Not that she's wholly immune by any means, but for the most part, she can keep it together in the face of a fellow Vastayan's dead body, in the face of bodies hitting the ground as her blades draw out of them. Using his aversion to it, the rage it sometimes inspires, is something she doesn't like doing, but does sometimes just to make things easier. She feels bad afterward, always, but better the enemy dead than either of them. She's far more willing to watch people die that are on what she considers the wrong side of her goals anyway.  
  
        This time, however, even she can't hide the way her eyes widen, the tremble in her lips as they part in a sharp inhale, nearly a gasp. The remnants of a caravan, goods pillaged and bodies strewn askew, lay before them, but that isn't what gives the two of them pause. It's the woman, wounds in her back, and the glossy eyes of the two children she'd obviously been trying to protect against a tree on the side of the road. Their hands are limp beside their small bodies, one holding fabric from the woman's sleeve, torn in her hands. The woman had obviously gone first, her weight pinning the children in place, easy targets for the bandits afterward.   
  
        To leave survivors of a race as long-lived and with memories as good as the Vastaya would have been an unwise move-- and Xayah only wishes she could know who had done this, so that she might hunt them down in their stead.   
  
         A look around shows both Vastaya and Humans alike litter the road, all merchants from the look of them-- likely a convoy on the way to a larger town from a smaller one; not a single one remaining who would make it back to the home they'd likely left in high spirits. Xayah closes her eyes and Rakan makes a sound, low and pained, deep in the back of his throat, already moving. They don't have time for this, she thinks, trying for detachment and failing when Rakan makes another of those wounded sounds, and she swoops in to help him, taking part of the weight of the body he's trying to move with downcast eyes.   
  
        They don't have time, but she'd be a monster if she just left this to him. These are not their people, but they are still Vastaya, and  _something_ should be done for them.   
  
        Working in relative silence, it still takes hours to finish. Rakan isn't pleased even after-- none of them had names they knew, any papers that might have given the information were either gone or stained and torn beyond legibility. No songs could be properly sung for them. Rakan tries regardless, and Xayah stands behind him, more somber than usual, until he's had enough; her cape whirls against his hip as she turns, smooth and seemingly impatient, and heads into the trees to resume on their way.  
  
        The road is no longer safe to travel.

 

* * *

 

        They reach a town just before sunset, a squall nipping at their heels and spurring them forward at ever-increasing speeds. Neither of them desires to be caught in the coming storm, and so they make haste toward the closest place they might bed down for the night, huddled close, chilled from the wind that had picked up on their way there. The inn seems to serve double-duty as the local pub, and though the majority of the patrons are human, surprisingly Vastaya dot their numbers here and there. The atmosphere is warm if quiet, but any sense of welcome dies down the further they get into the building, the more eyes land on her violet plumage. The hush that falls as they make their way to the counter is worrisome, restrained whispers hidden behind hands only barely audible to two pairs of sharp ears. Xayah shares a look with Rakan, but nothing happens until they move to ask for lodging, at which point the wife of the apparent owner, after an argument carried on in harsh whispers, raises her voice and declares _loudly_ \--  
  
"--and I won't have her bringing us the kind of trouble she undoubtedly will!"  
  
        Xayah halts, but Rakan doesn't, sweeping past her with a snarl, lips pulling back over his teeth, blue eyes ablaze.  
  
"You watch your _mouth_ \--!"  
  
        The fact that she's recognized is a problem-- but not as much of one as the possibility of Rakan losing his temper in a place like this. Acting fast, she slips forward, pressing herself between him and the counter, ears lowering and expression grim.   
  
"Rakan." Xayah's voice stops him before he tries to get any further, hand landing on his arm with a subtle shake of her head. "Leave it."  
  
        Normally, she would argue; fight. But between their travels and the scene on the road earlier, there isn't much fight left in her. Instead she turns, motioning for him to follow, and feels rather than sees him do so (albeit reluctantly), close on her heels as she makes her way out of the establishment, his usual bright mood doused. They're halfway down the street, discussing quietly what they can do as the first raindrops break overhead, about to make a break for the treeline once again when a voice reaches them. A young woman, one hand clumsily shielding her from the rain with her apron, hurries toward them, a bundle in her arms. She shoves it toward them until Rakan takes it, perplexed, her own expression uncomfortable and apologetic, and motions with her head toward the inn.  
  
"It's not much, and my mother won't be happy when she finds out, but my father and I we..." Her lips press thin, a dark tail barely visible before coiling around her own waist in agitation. "We don't think you're doing anything all that wrong," she blurts, and jerks her chin toward the parcel. "Food for the night, blankets too. It'll get cold when the rain hits properly." Her arm stretches out past them, back toward the treeline. "There's a cave about a few miles that way. Most humans wouldn't be able to find it, much less get up to it. Ought to keep you out of sight for a few days, if you need it."   
  
        Neither Rakan or Xayah say anything, merely share a look, but Rakan smiles, warily, and Xayah nods, stoic but not ungrateful, and in a whirl of cloaks, they all but disappear.   
  
        

* * *

  
        The storm they'd been hoping to avoid breaks overhead as they run, trying to stray ahead of it to no avail. Water washes over them, rolling off some of their feathers and sinking into others. They are not aquatic birds by any means, and so despite their best efforts, they still end up soaked through to the bone by the time the cave in question comes into sight, bored high into the side of a nearly sheer cliff face. Rakan gathers wood they can use for a fire as they make their way toward the cliff at Xayah's instruction, and she curls further forward to keep the bundle in her arms as dry as she can. The wood will dry out with magic once they're someplace the rain can't reach, and though their respective burdens make the climb cumbersome, they still manage, nearly falling into the mouth of the cave when they finally reach it. Making their way deeper inside before they can rest is a necessity, however; the wind combined with the rain is soaking the first few feet directly in front of the opening, and neither of them want to spend the night being rained on.   
  
        A suitable distance away, it's obvious they're not the first to use this place as a refuge, but the last to do so haven't been there for a long, long time. The wood remaining in the fire pit dug into the floor from the last visitors is brittle and charred, but it will do well for kindling, once the rest of the wood is a bit more dry as well. Xayah decides to tend to that while she bids Rakan to set the blankets back behind the fire pit a bit-- close enough to keep them warm, far enough to prevent any accidents. She says nothing when he sets everything up like a big nest, as if they'll be sharing, and instead focuses on drying the wood at her fingertips. It's not the kind of magic she's used to, and it's definitely clumsy and takes her far longer than it would another Vastaya (save for perhaps her easily-distracted companion) but eventually, she gets it done.   
  
        What she doesn't use for the initial fire she sets beside it, to feed into it throughout the night, and then she's reaching for the small parcel of food. It's no feast-- bread and cheese and a few fruit, and nothing to drink with it (albeit the rain has its uses for that) along with a few pieces of dried meat. There is a single sweet bun, which Xayah tosses to Rakan-- simply because she's not in the mood for sweets, and not, she tells herself, because it brings a smile, however small, back onto his lean face. Despite that, the air is somber as well as chilly, and though she tries to listen when Rakan starts singing her a story, her mind drifts, and Rakan's voice slowly dies down, realizing she's in no mood. He might be dense sometimes, she thinks, but he can read her like no one's ever been able to (or tried) before.   
  
        When she gets up and heads toward the mouth of the cave, he makes a worried noise, low and soft, but lets it die down as she settles just out of reach of the rain, spine straight and gaze on the stormy horizon.  
  
        It isn't as if she's not aware that not all Vastaya agree with her. Many she's come across, even in the face of the humans and their transgressions, still see her methods as too much, too extreme. They seem to care more about the relationships they have with a race that barely cares that they are the cause of the Vastaya's approaching extinction than about the rest of their people. Maybe she is too extreme, but she doesn't know what else to do. Her younger self's attempts at diplomacy had been disastrous, and with the disappearance of her own tribe, her willingness for it had dissipated considerably. Add to that the way that humans were always trying to  _get_ something from her, be it her feathers or her affections (both of which she didn't consider a single one of them worthy of) and her willingness to trust them soon went the same way. The more time she spent among them, the less and less she was willing to see things any way but her own; the fact that some of the Vastaya still could was baffling to her. She didn't understand how they could forgive so much so readily. Then again, she'd never been very forgiving to begin with. Even so, the reaction at the inn was a new one. Sure other Vastaya had been wary of her before, but she'd never had someone throw her  _out_ before. There was something to that, she thought, but she couldn't imagine what it could be.   
  
        Not just yet.   
  
        At the very least, there were also Vastaya who, on occasion, would hear what she had to say, hear the stories of the things she'd seen, that she'd seen happen, and would come around to her point of view. Vastaya like the innkeeper and his daughter; like Rakan.   
  
        Well no, that wasn't fair. No Vastaya was quite so loyal to her cause as Rakan.  
  
        Since the day he'd first slipped into her life, he'd been... enthusiastic. About her, mostly-- at least at first. His flirting was nearly unstoppable, his desire for her almost embarrassingly obvious, and though she tried her best to hide it, her own for him had been almost equally so. At least she could say she was the more subtle of them about it. Even so, she'd not entertained the idea of allowing him to try and garner her affection in earnest, and eventually, he'd moved past the initial flighty lust for her and actually... listened. He listened when she spoke to other Vastaya, she listened when she complained to herself as she planned, he listened (even if he didn't always pay the best attention) day in and day out, always following behind her and getting more and more willing to fight for her cause.  
  
        At some point, she'd idly wondered what he'd do when his flight of fancy took him from her and her cause, and the grasping sinkhole of displeasure that had momentarily taken the place of her heart had nearly knocked her breathless.  
  
        Now here he was, cold and miserable and in likely discomfort because of _her_ , and still, he stayed. Not because he expected anything, not because he had no other reason to-- he could have easily stayed by himself and distanced himself from her-- but because he wanted to. He'd said he'd fight at her side and he had yet to break his promise. She was honestly starting to consider that he never would.  
  
        She was also starting to consider that all this time, she's been a fool.  
  
          Because while he's stopped pursuing her quite so fervently, he hasn't stopped entirely, and every morning it's the same line. _'Just say yes, Xayah,'_ without fail, every morning, the words come with that smug, certain smile that speaks of utter confidence spread across his handsome face, _'and you won't regret it'_. There are a great many things Xayah regrets, a laundry list of decisions she's made that she wishes she hadn't, events that had transpired that she wishes she hadn't borne witness to... things she has done that have lead her to being pushed away by some of her people and embraced by others. And she doesn't-- she decides as she stares out into the rain and back toward the village where, had he left her side, Rakan could be safe and warm and in a far better mood-- want Rakan to end up on that list.  Behind her, Rakan is humming to himself, low and soft, the rustling of fabric and feathers giving away the fact that he's likely preening his feathers as he waits for her to return; that humming slows to a halt as she stands, not turning toward him just yet.   
  
        Though her decision is made, this somehow requires her to steel herself more than even the most harrowing of her missions.   
  
"Rakan." Her voice breaks the stillness that's fallen, the fine tremor in it accentuated by the shiver she gives, from head to toe, plumes around her face quivering with the motion. Rakan looks up, head canted in her direction, curious, both brows arching when he watches her turn, fingers gliding over the clasp in her cloak, making it dissipate into glimmers of violet light. " _Yes_."  
  
        For a heartbeat he freezes, eyes comically wide as he stares her down, fingers curled into her palm, hand still resting where her clasp had once been and eyes downcast. She's not fidgeting, because Xayah doesn't  _fidget_ , but there's a nervousness to her that he can almost  _feel_ , and it makes him rein in his eagerness before he can dive at her. Instead he approaches slowly, until he's close enough for his hand to settle atop hers, tugging it away from her shoulder. Bending, he presses his lips to her knuckles, eyes never leaving her face. Even in the dim light, she's a bright point in his vision, firelight flickering over her skin and making her eyes seem to  _glow_ , and Rakan slides and arm around her, pulling her close.  
  
        Having watched her since the road that afternoon, he'd known she was putting more and more onto her shoulders-- stress and strain that she didn't need to be taking on, because there was only so much she could do, so much she could plan. There was only so much she could save, no matter how ragged she ran herself trying. He had seen, and he had let her, knowing she would eventually let him lighten her load, temporarily perhaps, as he sang her to sleep or told her one last tale before bed. He hadn't anticipated her distance, and he suspected that the events of the evening had been what had taken the unusual toll on her, but he didn't know what to do about it. He'd never seen her act like this. Admittedly, he'd only known her a little while, but Xayah was not nearly so mercurial as himself. His moods were often difficult for even him to presume, but she... his raven had always been steady, a rock for her people and for _him_.  
  
        Now it would seem she was finally going to let him try and return the favor.   
  
"Yes?" He repeats, making sure, and Xayah's eyes harden as if she means to snap at him about it, but then catches herself and turns her hand in his, fingers curling around his palm. His own curl around her much smaller hand and squeeze in return, and she freezes up, unused to the contact, but then seems to relax, leaning against him.   
  
"Yes," she reassures, breathless but certain, and Rakan bends his head to kiss the tips of her fingers this time, nodding slowly.  
  
"Anything for you, _miella_."  
  
        Rakan watches her cheeks turn a lovely shade of rose at the endearment that compliments her hair and feels a smile creep across his lips which only widens as Xayah gives him a look when she sees it that borders on exasperated. Elation would have him pick her up and return her to the ring of blankets and a few of his feathers he's made for the evening in the hopes of them bedding down together for warmth, but he knows things can't be so sudden as that yet. Xayah is strong, and Xayah is steady, but Xayah (he has a rather decent inkling) is also somewhat inexperienced outside of the idle flirtation she sometimes sees fit to sling his way when she's in a particularly good mood. So he takes it slow as he can and he can tell, in the way Xayah eases more and more into his arms as he presses soft, careful kisses against her lips, that she's grateful for it. It's much easier to instead kiss her until she's distracted enough for his hands to drop down to her hips without protest, though the way he has to bend to do so isn't wholly comfortable. It's worth it for the way Xayah sighs against his mouth, the way she lets him tug her body forward even as his teeth skim the swell of her lower lip with a low sound of desire.  
  
         Reminders of how small she actually is compared to him are few and far between-- so when he finds himself in the unique position of craning down to kiss her, it's difficult not to try and pick her up. She wouldn't mind it, despite how she'd likely complain about it he knows, but such things can be left for other times. And he _does_ hope there will be other times. Instead he focuses on Xayah, pressed against his chest, her lithe body rocking gently forward against him as if she can't quite get close enough. She really is such a slender little thing, all lean muscle and delicate-looking limbs, save for the generous breadth of her hips, the strength in her thighs. One of which presses between his legs as she takes a step forward, wanting to be closer still, and he can't help it; he jerks her hips against his with one hand, rumbling a low growl that speaks only of how much he  _wants_ her.   
  
        Head swimming, Xayah starts back to herself at the sound Rakan makes, her skin warming with the realization of how easily she'd fallen into his arms. It wasn't as if she could lie and say she hadn't considered it (many a time) but she'd always resisted; now, it seemed her traitorous body was going to attempt to make up for lost time while it could. Had she the presence of mind, she might be embarrassed by the shudder that rolls through her as she responds with a noise of her own, decidedly in kind, as Rakan's fingers slip down her hips and then back up underneath the short, uneven hem of her dress. His fingers dig into her thighs, gripping the soft, ample flesh there delightedly, and she doesn't have time to be flustered before his hands are groping upward and inward, respectively. One hand lands squarely on her ass, once again kneading at her in appreciation, while the other halts at the top of one of her thighs, talons delicately slipping beneath her underthings and tugging forward. The 'fabric' dissipates from over his hand, and he starts, blinking down at her in a combination of surprise and something unnameable, before leaving her lips with one last, chasing kiss and making his way slowly down the front of her body. The fabric parts beneath his mouth like a river, but he pulls away at her waist after a final, swift peck to her stomach, leaving Xayah confused but wanting his mouth back on her skin.  
  
        He gives her just that (because how could he do anything else after hearing her murmur it above him, unaware she was speaking aloud?) gripping her ass tight and pulling her hips forward into the press of his waiting tongue and open mouth. Xayah _whines_ , high and breathless, and he steadies her by pulling her other thigh up to rest on his shoulder, spreading her open before him. The smell and taste of her invade his senses, and it's almost enough to drive him to distraction, to playing against her until she can't take the teasing anymore. For a few moments he gets away with just that, only to have Xayah's fingers stray to his hair, digits sifting between hair and feathers, her eyes meeting his as he works. She flushes, growls,then tightens her fingers against his head and shoves him closer, bucking forward.   
  
        Rakan always did love a woman who knew what she wanted.  
  
        Her hips rock against his mouth, insistent, demanding, but Rakan's tongue remains languid, slipping around and along her in slow, careful patterns, her name and his scribed against the heat of her. He punctuates his impromptu writing with a thrust up and  _into_ her, and Xayah makes an answering noise that further stokes the fire under his skin, her talons pinpricks of mild pain against the back of his head. He doesn't mind it at all, squeezing her ass and her thigh and pushing his mouth closer, opening wider in order to slide his tongue more easily across and into her. Xayah squirms, whimpering low in the back of her throat, a sound that denotes how ready she is for him; it takes every last bit of the little self-restraint he has not to take her up on that immediately. Instead his hands move once more, sliding to her hips, and make as if to tug the fabric wrapped around her legs off. In response, Xayah tugs at the collar of his cape, eyelids fluttering for a moment before catching his eye as he tongues up against her folds playfully, and he winks, but lets the cape disappear, much to her apparent satisfaction. He's rewarded by the fabric hindering the sensation of her soft thighs against his palms disappearing, and he tugs the one up on his shoulder against his cheek as he flicks against the very tip of her clit with his tongue.   
  
"Rakan," Xayah murmurs in a tone he'd say was  _pleading_ if it were anyone else, and he stiffens and looks up at her, dress half-undone, chest heaving and thighs trembling. " _Rakan_ ," she repeats, pointedly, and he groans and stands in a flurry of motion, scooping her into his arms and peppering her face with kisses as he makes his way back toward their blankets, mindful not to skirt too close to the fire. Xayah squirms in his arms, fending off his kisses with nips that are almost  _playful_  in return and he feels his shoulders lighten at the thought that it's because of him.   
  
        He grunts when his knees hit the ground, tail coiled around behind where he gingerly sets her hips, and Xayah sheds the last of her shapeshifted clothing with a sigh, leaning back onto her elbows and peering at him expectantly. Rakan's clothing is gone in the next heartbeat, but even so, he's still thoroughly focused on Xayah, whose eyes skim up his body with a seemingly growing nervousness before flicking away. He leans forward to turn her face back to his, letting her watch him slide his eyes over her, appreciating every inch until his eyes meet hers again.   
  
"Only you could have such beauty to match your strength, Xayah," he murmurs, hand taking hold of her calf as her eyes cut back to his face, suspicious for one moment, before her expression is sardonic in the next.   
  
" _Only_ me? Surely you can't believe  _that_."  
  
"Only you matter," he says simply, and he watches her eyes widen, teeth catching her lip and making him smirk. "Is that so hard to believe?"  
  
        Xayah fixes him with a look that's almost calculating, leaning up to drag her teeth against his lip and making the smirk slide off his face in favor of a slightly more feral expression and, apparently satisfied, slides an arm around his shoulder, tugging him closer.   
  
"...from anyone else, maybe," she admits, slowly, as if she's choosing her words very carefully. Rakan knows immediately that she is, and focuses on her with everything he has. "But from you, I... don't want to doubt it. So I won't." Licking her lips, one of her legs slips around one of his, rubbing slowly up and down, and he shudders, control taking another hit. "But," she continues, and the tone of her voice is coquettish in a way he hadn't thought her capable of, "I wouldn't be opposed to a little proof."  
  
"Oh, I've got more than a  _little_ for you, honey," he growls playfully, and he doesn't miss the way her eyes flick quickly downward.   
  
"I'll  _bet_."   
  
        Rakan laughs, everything about her in that moment making him more enamored still, and slides his hands under her legs, parting them around him until her ass is flush with his hips, cock settled against her core, warm and ready. Instead of slipping inside her to let himself finish hardening, he instead leans down over her, taking her lips again, feeling the curve of her lips, hesitant and fragile but  _there_ , definitely  _there_ , beneath his own. Her arms slip over his shoulders, her mouth parting beneath his, and her tongue slides against the seam of his lips, pressing. He lets her in, hands skimming over her skin, the feathers that dust her hips and the sides of her belly, appreciating as much of he as he can while he still has the attention to spare. Fingers wander up her ribcage, feeling the delicate flutter of her heart thrumming beneath his hand, and he presses the heel of his palm against her to feel it while his fingers ensconce a small, pert breast, squeezing it gingerly. Xayah arches at the touch, gasping into his mouth, and then resumes kissing him with more fervor still when his fingers find her nipples.  
  
        He really should have known better than to delay her any further though, because a moment later he finds himself on his back with her atop him, breath coming in slow, steady pants, and her fingers reach down stoking down his stomach in a way that is both wanting and warning. His stomach trembles beneath the soft drag of her talons, and she licks her lips again and looks as if she could  _devour_ him.   
  
        He knows the feeling.  
  
        There are a few things he could have done to distract her enough to get her on her back again, where they'll have gravity to help with their initial coupling, but watching her hover above him, knees planted wide to accommodate his frame and body nearly shaking with the need to have him, he's pretty sure this way's fine too. She gets to be in charge this way too, which is so incredibly  _Xayah_ that he can't help the fond smile that makes its way across his lips, shattered immediately by the soft _'_ _ah_ _'_ that leaves him as she takes him in hand. His hands curve around her legs, low, near the bend of her knees, and he enjoys the way they tremble as she slides down onto him. He knows he could have done this the simple mortal way, have been ready and willing the moment their clothes came off-- but he wants to give her this, properly, as a real mate _should_.  
  
        Besides, this way he gets to watch her face, once she's settled all the way down to the base of him, as he hardens inside her warmth, her eyes glossing and mouth dropping partly open at the suddenness of it.   
  
        Despite having been expecting it (and honestly, damn Rakan for doing it this way, because the sentiment _alone_ is almost enough to overwhelm her) she's still not prepared for the actual sensation of it. Half-hard and waiting, Rakan hadn't been much of a hassle to take into her body, fingers keeping a careful grip to assure that he didn't slip out due to her being on top of him. It was a mistake to think she'd be able to handle him hardening inside her without much of a fuss, however. Because she can feel it  _all_ , from the way his cock lengthens to the way it thickens, stretching her from the inside, and she falters on her knees at the raw and sudden  _fullness_ , while Rakan's thumbs stroke over her legs and his mouth lifts into a smile that's insufferably smug. He waits until she's steady to move at least, sliding his hands up to her hips but not doing much else, save for giving her a wink that makes her smack a hand against his chest. His cock twitches inside her at that, and at her arched brow, Rakan only winks again, utterly shameless.  
  
"Told you I had more than just a little for you," he croons, and Xayah rolls her eyes, stifling a chuckle and contracting around him instead.   
  
        Rakan groans, and she realizes he's not completely unaffected; as she finally rises and then drops back down, his hands clench on her hips, and Xayah also realizes just how much he's holding back-- and she can't just let  _that_ happen.  
  
"Come on then," she whispers, soft and commanding, leaning her body forward and rolling her hips in a way that feels _far_ too good, "give it  _all_ to me, Rakan. You know I won't accept any less."  
  
        In that moment, Rakan realizes two very important things. The first is that Xayah telling him what to do is incredibly hot in ways he hadn't thought he'd like before. The second is that he is absolutely, irrevocably,  _insanely_ in love with this woman and everything about her.  
  
"Yeah," he groans, almost pained with the realization of it, hands squeezing her hips and guiding them to move as he draws out of her partway, "I know."  
  
        Hips snap up into her at the last word, which catches just behind Rakan's teeth as he moves up into her, as hard as the position allows. Xayah gasps, hands falling against his chest to steady herself, but doesn't let herself be overwhelmed just yet; it's a tougher battle than it might seem, but she manages. Instead she braces herself against him, drawing her legs in against his sides, and counters his momentum as best she can. Her hips drop when his push up, rise when his drop, but never too far, never far enough that he's in danger of slipping out of her. It's slow at first, both (she suspects) to let her adjust to him and to the motions. It's a good opportunity to lean into him and retake his mouth, gasping a soft curse against it as her nails rake carefully down his chest and his cock seems to  _pulse_  inside her. His hands on her hips move to her ass in retaliation, squeezing and kneading, and she takes his face between her hands, kissing him hungrily. One of his hands gives a soft _smack_ , careful and light, against her backside, and Xayah inhales sharply and, to her own surprise, squeezes around him with a moan. Rakan takes note of that, but doesn't do it again, instead removing one hand from her as he uses it to brace himself. Pushing up into a seated position with Xayah in his lap, intent on keeping the tempo, is difficult, but nothing Rakan can't handle. When he's properly upright, he halts her hips with his hands (earning a frustrated noise) as he re-positions his legs carefully, and then hauls her back down against him, crushing her close to his chest with one hand. The other returns to her ass, and he snaps his hips into her with renewed fervor, hard, steady thrusts that are meant to tease as much as they are meant to satisfy.  
  
         Xayah snarls his name against his mouth in a way that would be  _terrifying_ , if it weren't for the fact that it's coupled with her hands buried in his hair, forehead pressed against his, breasts bouncing as she demands more, faster _harder **fuckplease** Rakan_. And really, how could he possibly deny her when she asks like _that_?  
  
       What she likely isn't expecting is for him to settle both hands on her ass and start pulling her down _hard_  into his thrusts, only to lift her back up as he sees fit, wresting control from her completely and she can't find it in herself to be bothered. Especially not when it feels so good, the length of his cock pushing into her deeper still, making her feel as if she might burst if she took too much more but  _oh_ , did she ever want  _more_. Her legs slide around his waist, squeezing, tense, her hands moving through his hair as her mouth invades his, voracious. Rakan can only shudder, a fine tremble running through his center and he pulls Xayah down onto him more and more fervently. One hand sneaks around, thumb against her clit, and even when she tenses, he doesn't ease up. Xayah moves atop him like a wild thing, uncontrollable, beautiful, but even as she squeezes around him, he pulls her down harder, faster, until he's  _in_ , deep, deep as he can, the base of his cock swelling slightly as he comes and spills deep into her, watching her face as she trembles at the suddenness of it, pupils blown wide and teeth digging into her lip at the realization. Even so, he keeps moving, shallow thrusts into her all he can manage even as she comes, not silent but not loud, a low, guttural outpouring of his name from her lips that shakes apart as her body trembles in his arms, riding aftershocks as he keeps coming as well, spilling more and more into her in sporadic, pleasurable trickles.   
  
        Nothing will come of it, but it's the action itself that has meaning, an inescapable laying of his heart in her hands as his thumb keeps stroking, feather-light, against her clit.  
  
        Xayah quivers, shakes in his hold, the tremors running through her delicate but thorough, her body warm and satisfied to the very core. There's a lot to discuss between them, a lot that could and  _should_ be said. Xayah can't bring herself to care past the hesitant expression on Rakan's face as he touches her still, gentle, keeping her body on the edge of another precipice to ease the strain of keeping him inside her still. Unusually careful, Xayahs's hands leave his hair, one settling against his cheek, thumb stroking over his lips, his cheekbone, the other gliding downward, coming to rest over his heart.  
  
"I did ask for it all," she begins softly, her voice rough and strained, more from their activity than anything else, but still tender, affectionate. "And you gave it." He gave her far more than she'd anticipated besides his touch; his desire, his affection, his  _heart_... and this. A promise to her in the surest sense. His future-- _their_ future-- whatever form that might take. "I..." It's a struggle, because she can't offer the same, she thinks, but Rakan leans in with a smile and kisses her, so sweetly she's pushed over the edge with another shudder, and uses the hand around her to pull her close.  
  
"I know," he assures, and not for the first time, she's surprised by how astute Rakan is, when even she barely knows what she means. "I know."  
  
        Xayah doesn't say anything else; she doesn't need to. Instead she settles herself against Rakan, chin tucked into the curve of his neck, and begins to hum, a soft, slow melody, a love song she'd once heard. She's not surprised in the slightest when Rakan's arms wind around her, pulling the blankets around their forms, and begins humming along. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, did you guys know Xayah and Rakan are actually fox-griffin hybrids and not simply or strictly 'birds' despite their design cues? It's [true](https://www.reddit.com/r/leagueoflegends/comments/66jbqk/were_the_team_that_made_xayah_and_rakan_ask_us/dgiysr7/)! ;)
> 
> Feel free to leave prompts in the comments btw and if I see something I like, I'll see what I can do.


	3. Million Dollar Bills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** seven little words-- charisma, succulent, granite, queen, blender, taxi, obscene.
> 
> Two for one coffee shop/stripper AU; part one of two.

        Strobe lights are no good for keeping Rakan's attention span in one place, a neon cacophony that only starts up intermittently between dancers, though he doubts anyone his gaze lands on and flickers away from almost immediately really minds. Of course, one or two spot him, and recognize the money that even his casual wear represents, and try and keep his attention on them for just a little longer. The hope that he'll consider spending his money on them is for naught; though he's enjoying the atmosphere, and certainly not minding the view, he's not really interested in doing more than maybe having a few drinks and checking out if there's anyone with  _real_ talent among them. It's a long shot, and the reason for it is known to him and him alone, but he's not going to spend time on people who can't catch his attention and  _keep_ it. He needs a someone who can command attention, and so far, all he's seen is women who can command libidos and not much else. Not that that's a bad thing, exactly, but it's no what he's looking for.   
  
        It's a shame; the person who'd recommended the place to him had sworn there'd be someone there worth his time.   
  
        Pressing further into the space, Rakan strolls past private enclosures and crowded booths. He flashes a wink to a girl who stops in the middle of a lapdance to eye him, but keeps moving as the man she's supposed to be dancing for glares. The grin he tosses him would be sheepish, if it weren't also smug; Rakan knows he's pretty, and having that knowledge reinforced now and again is never a bad thing in his opinion. Past the booths clustered around the stage, small two or three person tables are spread out, smaller, circular stages dotted in between, with the occasional dancer perched atop them. A couple of waitresses clad in tight but not overtly revealing clothing taxi between the tables and the bar, where those mostly there to drink rather than for the sights are settled. Rakan steers clear of them, because those are the kinds of guys he could easily get himself in trouble over, and instead begins to meander toward the main stages again, looking for a place to settle in and watch for a little while in the hopes of finding what he needs.   
  
        Without warning, the lights dim, a few spotlights converging on the main stage, in time to illuminate a small figure in black and violet stepping regally onto the stage. Rakan's eyes are drawn to long legs clad in thigh-high boots sweeping out from behind a long ombre skirt in violet and black, which hangs down from a tighter skirt so short it barely covers the curves belied by the breadth of her hips. The top is high-necked with a hood pulled up over her face, plum-colored hair peeking out from the side in a sleek-looking ponytail, its long sleeves reaching far enough to halfway cover her palms. Smirking lips and the glint of a nose ring are visible beneath the hood, steps long and purposeful but still sensual as she makes her way toward the first of the poles set up on the stage. Vaguely, he hears a song beginning to swell, the low throb of the base and the high twang of the strings in time with those long strides. It's not a difficult song to place-- though it's not one he might have guessed someone like this mysterious woman would enjoy, which makes it all the better-- and without a second thought, he finds himself gravitating toward the edges of the stage, veering away from his previously intended path.  
  
        Unfortunately, so do plenty of others, and so Rakan contents himself with the fringes as she reaches the pole and drags her feet slowly around it in time with the song's breathy _'oh-ohs'_ and the escalating beat of Rakan's heart.  
  
        A quick twirl, and then her back is to the pole, hips working in a slow grind until she drops one knee inward, leaning out with her hand on the pole, and straightens the other leg out, tossing her head back and giving him a faint glance of golden eyes. Another few strolls around the pole, slow, interspersed with quick twirls on heels that look like they might be hard to  _walk_ in, much less dance in, and then she's swinging by one hand, a knee hooking around the pole shortly after and picking up the speed of her spin. A moment later, the free hand reaches for her free ankle, and she bends backward as she turns, a slow and steady buildup along with the tempo.   
  
        Words rise in Rakan's brain to describe her, ones with long, sibilant 's' sounds at their beginnings, making him fidget in place at the familiar heat that sparks in his chest as he watches her move. Sensual, sultry-- his eyes flicker to the hitch of a leg around the pole, the way her thigh tenses but still looks soft and pliant to touch--  _succulent_ , his mind supplies, and he shakes himself away from that avenue of thought and instead focuses purely on her skill. The fact that he actually manages that gives him hope that maybe the tip he'd been given hadn't been for nothing after all.   
  
        As the song picks up, so does the intricacy of her movements, the dress ripped off at one point and used as a prop for a moment tossed out of the way after a few elegant spins. She's left in a backless cropped shirt, the sleeves still attached, and short black shorts with a crisscrossing web of straps serving as garters that disappear into the height of her boots. Her performance continues like a queen holding court onstage until Rakan finds himself staring, awestruck, as she  _drops_ suddenly from the very top of a pole, twisting downward as she goes, and spins, arms outstretched and lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk at the wave of sharp inhalations and then loud exclamations that follow, among which Rakan's is undoubtedly the loudest.    
  
"...holy crap!"  
  
         It catches her attention as familiar, loud but not exactly unpleasant-- and in the middle of her downward twist, Xayah throws her head back, catching sight of the floor--   
  
        --and of a very familiar pair of cherry-red supra skytops, frozen just at the end of the stage.  
  
         Her eyes follow them up long legs in slightly baggy jeans, up past a thin t-shirt stretched tight over broad shoulders, and up to a pair of bright blue eyes under a shaggy mop of white-blonde hair streaked with red.  
  
        She's not wrong, she realizes, eyes slowly widening in growing disgruntlement.  Before her stands the guy that's been flirting with her for nearly two months now, bright eyes flying from her to the nearest wall as he realizes he's staring. Xayah manages to at least not show anything past the initial surprise, righting herself and continuing with her routine as if nothing has changed.   
  
        But of course, it has, and now she has to figure out how to handle this mess before he opens his big mouth to anyone about her job.  
  
       This just isn't her night. 

* * *

 

"Double shot mocha for... Zei-yuh?"  
  
        From the pickup side of the counter, the voice that sounds is, in her humble opinion, far too chipper for this time of the day. Even so, it's considerably less grating than the blender chorus line that had been at work not moments before, so Xayah admits to herself that it could be worse. It's no help that most people's days don't  _start_ past one in the afternoon so she might be just the slightest bit biased against any sound above a certain decibel level at the moment. Even so, she can't imagine how just someone's  _voice_ can convey that sort of good cheer, though when she looks up, it suddenly becomes  _much_ clearer. Holding her coffee is what has to be one of the most attractive men she's ever seen outside of the film industry, and she vaguely realizes she's caught sight of him from the corner of her eye in recent weeks, though never at the counter before. Broad-shouldered but otherwise lean, he's bent forward over the granite counter with an easy grace and an easier grin, not even pretending to avert his eyes from her when she catches him staring in return. For all her posturing, Xayah feels suddenly under-dressed in her black mini-dress and stockings, though she fights the feeling down hard. Her gaze drops back to the phone in her hand, and she finishes off her text before beginning to move forward, lips pursing in displeasure at the almost immediate reply she receives in return.    
  
"It's _Xayah_ ," she corrects absentmindedly, used to the mispronounced alternatives to her name, looking up sharply from her phone when she receives a soft laugh in reply. She has  _no_ idea how that could have been counted as funny.   
  
"I know," says the guy behind the counter, wiggling her cup and the bag likely containing the danish she'd ordered carefully, his smile just a little bit smug and more than a little bit flirtatious, "I just wanted a reason to introduce myself. I'm Rakan."  
  
        Internally, Xayah panics, the idea of someone like him flirting with someone like her, but she shoves that thought out of her head and reminds herself that he's just a  _guy_ working at a job with a tip jar-- the flirting probably gets him plenty, and she shouldn't take it too seriously. That's what she tells herself within the span of the brief moment after he introduces himself, at last leveraging an unimpressed Look at him.  
  
"...right," is the cool reply, gaze set directly upon him as she reaches into her purse and pulls out the right amount of bills. "Well I'm not caffeinated enough for whatever _this_ ," a motion of her hand, up and down his body (and trying not to stare again because really, no barista should have a body like _that_ ), "is so... better luck next time." 

"Awww, that's sweet. Kinda," he concedes, and Xayah can't think of a response to that as she takes her order, brows furrowed as if she can't quite figure out what language he's speaking. "Next time then, gorgeous," he explains with a wink and suddenly warm-faced, Xayah turns sharply on her heel and makes her way out of the coffee shop as fast as she can.  
  
        She's forgotten to wait for her change, but she assumes he'll just take it as a tip-- though hopefully not as a sign of interest. She doesn't have the _time_ for that kind of thing.  

 

* * *

 

        No sooner does the curtain close than Xayah stalks close, impressively intimidating on those heels of hers, a single, sharp-nailed finger pressing into his chest, and Rakan can only take a step back, shrinking into the seat behind him at the sight of her fury. "You need to _leave_. What are you even _doing_ here, anyway? This isn't some sort of creepy stalking thing is it, because if it is--!"  
  
        The threat in her words is left hanging dangerously, and Rakan holds his hands up to try and pacify her and (if he's honest with himself) as a barrier between her and his face should she decide to make good on it.  
  
"What-- no! No way! And I'm not leaving, I've got as much right to be here as anyone else!" That earns him a dangerous narrowing of her eyes, and he extends his hands a little further forward just in case. "No, look, I'm serious alright? I didn't know you worked here, how could I know that anyway, I haven't seen you in a few _days_ and it's not like I can have someone tail you or something and wow no, that sounds super suspicious, doesn't it?"   
  
        Xayah's mouth twitches as she represses a smile, and instead drawls slowly--  
  
"Ya _think_?"   
  
"Alright, listen," Rakan begins, trying to work himself back on track, and ignoring the fact that she's still in the remnants of her outfit from onstage... and not much else. "I just-- a friend recommended this place to me. Said I might be able to find what I was looking for here and hey, what do you know, he. Was.  _Right_." His eyes slide over her again, and he watches her seem to realize how little she's wearing suddenly, though she doesn't try and hide from him, instead meeting his gaze in challenge. Rakan's knees very nearly go weak.  
  
        Boy did he ever find what he was looking for and _then_ some.  
  
"I've got this... show, okay? And I need someone with talent. With charisma," as Xayah opens her mouth to protest, he motions with his hands again, one of them sweeping in the direction of the stage. "And don't tell me you don't have any because I know it when I see it, okay?"  
  
        The look on her face is inscrutable, but she hasn't walked out yet, and so Rakan steps forward, reaching for one of her hands-- a mistake, because she immediately jerks back, frowning.  
  
"No. _Touching_."    
  
"Right, right," he chokes out alongside a nervous laugh (she looks so dangerous, even a head and a half smaller than him as she is and that  _really_ shouldn't wind him up like it does, but) and instead shoves a hand into his pocket and comes up with the old watch he keeps in one of them, fiddling with it instead. "Anyway, like I was saying, I was looking for someone with  _presence_ and baby, you've got that in  _spades_. Hell, in  _shovels_." Again, he watches the soft pout of her mouth twitch in a struggle not to smile and feels his grin widen. "I don't know how much you make here," he begins, twisting the watch in his hand around his palm, cradling it against the curve between index finger and thumb, "but whatever it is, I'll match it... if you say you'll perform with me."   
  
"Perform with you." It's not so much a question as it is incredulous statement, and then her eyes narrow, arms crossing over her chest and weight leaning on one leg, suspicion in her gaze. "And just how do you plan to match it, exactly? Last I checked, baristas don't make  _that_ much money."   
  
"Oh, what that? Nah, I just show up for fun. One of my dad's trusts owns the place, I just kind of... pop in now and then, make sure everything's going okay."   
  
"I-- wait, your dad's  _what_?" Trusts? As in this guy probably had a trust  _fund_? Xayah feels her mouth drop open, before suspicion once again paints her features and she squints up at him, disbelieving. A dozen new questions rise to the fore of her mind alongside the ones she already had, but she still isn't certain what he's playing at. Because there is no way she's just going to _believe_ something like this so easily. She's not an idiot, after all. "No way you've got that kind of money just lying around, and if you think I'm that easy to fool, you--!" A phone is shoved into her face (when he pulled it out, she's not sure) and the amount of money in the account onscreen makes her eyes snap wide, voice choking off with a yelp of "you're fucking  _kidding_ me!"  
  
"Not in the slightest. And like I said, you come perform with me, and I'll make it worthwhile."   
  
        Against her better judgment (her tuition isn't going to pay itself, and whatever he's offering might give her the opportunity for more time to actually _study_ ) Xayah peeks at the screen again, then at his hopeful, still-grinning face and growls quietly in her throat. A finger is pointed at his nose, commanding and sudden, and Rakan feels himself swallow hard at the fire in her eyes.   
  
"My shift is over in three hours. You can come back then, and we'll talk. Try anything funny, and you'll find out just why that's a  _bad idea_ , are we clear?"   
  
        Rakan swallows hard, the threat resonating down to his bones in a way he's sure she wouldn't appreciate, and he nods, slowly, hands once more held up as if to try and calm her. Seemingly satisfied, Xayah straightens, then peers toward the curtain and back to him.   
  
"...you paid for a dance," she finally grumbles, pushing a button in a wall to the side of the flimsy excuse for a doorway, "so you get a dance."   
  
        Rakan lets himself get pushed back into the chair, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to keep himself in line as Xayah begins to sway along to the music she's started up. By the look on her face as she twists into position above his lap, body sinuous and purposeful, Xayah can absolutely tell.  
   
 

* * *

 

   
        Xayah slurps noodles between plum-tinted lips in a way that's almost obscene, a bead of spicy pork broth licked from the corner of her mouth, eyes locked on him coolly when he returns from picking up his own purchase. His arms are laden with food to pick at out of sheer nervousness, and he knows it's obvious, but he can't bring himself to care too much. The truck nearby had been close to closing up shop for the night when they'd shown up, and only the meaningful flashing of a few extra bills had convinced the owners to postpone their closing in order to make their orders. Xayah doesn't look impressed by the waving of his funds, the cup of cold barley tea beside her sweating condensation down its side and onto the slope of her wrist as she sets her chopsticks down to take a sip. It's late enough at night that it's relatively easy for them to find a table to sit in and eat, but still early enough that people are bustling from bar to bar around them. Rakan has a feeling that the place she'd demanded he meet her was chosen for its population density purposefully, and it pains him to think she feels suspicious enough of anyone to warrant it. Given what could happen to her, however, he's not really surprised; really, he's glad she's not as reckless as he thought she might be. Rakan carefully balances his boba and okonomiyaki fries  in one hand and the crook of his elbow, his pork chashu burger and croquettes in the other as he figures out how to set everything down. With a sigh, Xayah reaches for the fries and the croquettes, and places them onto the picnic table before giving him a meaningful look.   
  
        Rakan sits like an obedient puppy almost instantly and he watches her blink in surprise with only a minor degree of embarrassment.  
  
        Stirring the contents of her plastic container with her retrieved chopsticks, Xayah looks up at him from beneath surprisingly thick lashes, the shadow they cast making her golden eyes seem to flicker, drawing Rakan in, moth to a flame. He's stopped only by the back of her chopsticks against his nose, and she arcs a brow once more as he sits down and picks up his burger to occupy his hands. It's a sloppy distraction at best, but it's the best he can do until she speaks up, getting to the proposal at hand with surprising seriousness.  
  
"Alright," she begins, picking up noodles, one long violet nail tapping against the wood of her chopsticks with impatience, "explain. No one flashes that much money unless they want something  _weird_ ," the word is emphasized with a quick once-over of his person, as if gauging how 'weird' he is, before she continues, "but I don't mind 'weird' as long as it's within certain boundaries." Her wrist turns, twists the noodles into a more stable position, and brings them to her mouth, pausing before eating them to stare at him. "So. Talk."  
  
        Talking Rakan can do. His burger is eaten in large bites in between words, and he explains himself with only the slightest bit of nervousness. For all of his bravado, something about Xayah's cool indifference and fiery stare makes that harder to pull up than usual. He explains the remnants of his mother's dance troupe to her-- though 'dance' isn't quite the right word. It's somewhere between dance and acrobatics, which is why Xayah's ability is so important-- her capacity for polework will lend itself well to the kind of things he requires, and he has someone who can teach her how to work with the silks, when it comes around to that.   
  
"But it's the  _presence_ we need," Rakan insists, licking the remnants of the fried rice bun from his fingertips and reaching forward into the small box of fries. " _Your_ presence," is added, with earnest vehemence, and Xayah, sipping slowly at her broth from her plastic bowl pauses as if surprised. "You... I don't know how to explain it, but the second I saw you on that stage I knew. I  _knew_ it had to be you. The way you move, the way you draw attention..." Gesturing with a fry, he realizes Xayah is staring at him in puzzled awe, and he pauses, blinking at her. "What?"   
  
"You're... really sure about this, for someone who's only seen me perform once."   
  
"Well yeah, but-- that's all I need. Trust me, this isn't the kind of thing you need a second look to know, okay? It's a feeling, deep in my gut, and it's saying it over and over-- that's her. _That's_ the woman you need."  
  
        Again, she's giving him that look, as if she doesn't quite know what to make of him, inscrutable and fierce, and Rakan reaches out and shoves a handful of fries in his mouth to distract himself from the intensity of her stare and how it makes the bottom seem to drop out of his stomach.  
  
"The woman you need, huh?" Prodding pensively at the bottom of her bowl, she leans a cheek on a closed fist, her eyes hooding, molten gold in the brilliance of the streetlight off-center above them, then sets the chopsticks down and reaches into her pocket, pulling out her phone. Unlocking the screen, she turns it over and hands it to him, making a 'go on' motion with a flutter of her fingers. "Your number. I'll text you, when I'm free. Assuming you don't find someone else in the meantime."   
  
        Rakan pauses in the middle of searching for the appropriate heart emoji to put at the end of his contact name, eyes darkening to nearly slate, and crooks a smile at her that has her reaching for her barley tea to deal with the sudden dryness in her throat.  
  
"Trust me," he says, picking out the heart with all the sparkles and tapping in his number, sliding it across the table and back to its owner, "that's  _not_ gonna happen."  
  
        Pocketing her phone, Xayah stands, apparently ready to end the conversation and head on her way, but hesitates, and finds herself asking, warily-- "what makes you so sure?"   
  
        Rakan stands himself, licking leftover bonito flakes from his fingertips, staring down at her as he does, that same, satisfied smile overtaking his face once more.  
  
"Because I know I'm not going to find _anyone_ else like you."   
  
        He departs with a wave, nibbling on his croquettes as he goes, idly shaking the pearls in the bottom of his boba around, and Xayah watches, dumbstruck, and with a growing warmth in her face-- and her belly.  
  
"Well damn."   
  
        What the hell's she gotten herself into this time? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Rakan's lines imply some things about his preferences that are just A++ and I'm here for every last one of them tbh.


End file.
